The wildlands opened like a wound carved through the edge of the world.
For three days, Cael and Fen moved through sun-blasted valleys and endless plains, their boots kicking up pale dust that shimmered in the hot wind. Jagged ridgelines rose in the distance, their peaks ragged and blue beneath a thin curtain of clouds. The heat was dry, but constant, clinging to their skin like invisible hands, drawing sweat even from their bones.
This was the Trial Lands. Where the gods had once walked, the legends claimed. Where shadows moved freely, and the earth itself judged your worth.
The terrain was untamed and merciless. Rolling hills gave way to wide, open flats speckled with firebrush and thornbloom. Ancient trees bent eastward, shaped by constant wind, and strange birds—long-legged things with rust-red feathers—screeched across the sky. It was beautiful in its brutality. Sunlight glared off pale stone and burned in waves off the ground. At night, the temperature plummeted, forcing them to huddle near fire even with enchanted coats.
They passed half-collapsed watchtowers, the remnants of outposts built centuries ago to monitor those who dared to walk the Trials. Time had devoured them.
On the morning of the fourth day, they saw the ruins.
A wide circle of crumbling marble pillars rose from the earth like broken teeth. The ground there was blackened and cracked, as if struck by lightning over and over again. Scorch marks spread across stone tiles in spiraling patterns. In the center stood an ancient monolith, its obsidian surface etched with symbols that shimmered faintly as they approached.
They were not alone.
Five others stood near the monolith, each with gear and weapons. Four were young men, lean and silent, sitting apart or sharpening blades. Their faces were tight with nerves, eyes wary. They barely glanced at Cael and Fen as they arrived, acknowledging their presence with brief nods before returning to their preparations.
The fifth stood a little away from them, her figure tall and poised.
She turned when she heard footsteps.
Her eyes, a rich amber-gold, flicked over Cael and Fen with a piercing awareness that made Cael straighten instinctively. Her skin was a warm bronze tone, sun-kissed and marked with faint lines of ink—symbols that ran along her forearms and curled beneath the collar of her travel coat. Her hair, was as brown as wood, and was very elegantly brained with small metal clasps woven through the braid like beads of iron.
She held a long staff across her shoulders, made from what looked like polished blackwood, with a crescent blade affixed at one end.
"New arrivals," she said, voice calm but not cold. "We were wondering how many more would show."
Cael nodded, stepping forward. "Just us. I'm Cael."
"Fen," Fen added, adjusting the pack on his shoulders.
She studied them for a moment, then offered a hand. "I'm Iris."
Her grip was strong, steady. The kind of strength that spoke of someone who didn't just train to fight—but had already fought.
"Where are you from?" Fen asked.
"A little place south of the Iron Basin. Doesn't matter now. All gone." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a shadow behind it. "Same story as most of us, I think."
One of the other young men stood and approached, arms crossed over a leather vest lined with fur.
"Jalen," he said curtly, nodding to them. "That's Mero and Dren," he added, motioning behind him. "The quiet one's Kell."
Kell gave a short wave from his spot by the stone, then returned to adjusting his bracers.
"First time for all of you?" Fen asked lightly, trying to break the tension.
"No one does this twice," Jalen replied.
Iris gave a wry smile. "That's because you either pass… or die."
The words hung in the air.
No one corrected her.
They camped that night near the edge of the ruins. The fire crackled low as the sky turned violet, then black, stars sweeping overhead like silent sentinels. Cael sat with Iris while Fen and the others debated tactics around the fire.
"You're not like the rest of them," she said quietly, eyes on the flames.
"Because I talk?" Cael offered with a tired smile.
She smirked. "Because you listen."
Cael glanced at the others. "You've done this before?"
"No. But I've watched others try." She paused. "My sister walked the Trials five years ago."
"What happened?"
"She passed."
Cael raised an eyebrow. "Then why…?"
"She never came back."
Iris looked away, and Cael didn't push further. Some wounds weren't meant for words.
At dawn, the sky lit up like fire.
A crack split the air, sharp and divine. The earth trembled, and every head turned toward the monolith. The symbols along its surface blazed white. Winds screamed through the ruined pillars, tearing at cloaks and stirring ash from the old stones.
A shape appeared above the monolith tall, glowing, inhuman.
It wore no armor and carried no weapon, but its presence pressed against their souls like gravity. A Herald. Mouthpiece of the gods. It did not speak with a voice, but with thought, its words entering their minds like cold fire.
You have come to be judged.
The Herald's face was obscured by a veil of shifting light. Its body shimmered like water caught in moonlight.
You seek the mark of the Ashwalker. The brand of one who endures fire and shadow. Know this: the Trial does not test strength alone. It tests your soul. Your past. Your truth.
Cael felt his chest tighten.
At dawn, the gates will open. Each of you will walk a different path. You will not see one another again… until the end.
A pause.
Many will die but those who don't will rise above humanity.
The Herald raised a hand.
Prepare. At sunrise, it begins.
And then the light vanished.
The monolith stilled. The silence that followed was crushing.
Jalen cursed softly. Dren punched the ground. Fen just stared, mouth slightly open.
Iris exhaled slowly, then stood.
"Guess this is it."
Cael swallowed. "You ready?"
"I've been ready for years," she said, but her fingers trembled.
Fen leaned close. "We're only halfway through, huh?"
"Not even close," Cael said.
And with that, they turned toward the night and waited for the dawn that would decide everything.